Sartorial Surprises
by Lyowyn
Summary: In 1839, Aziraphale buys a suit. Some of his tailor's questions are lost in translation...


-1839, London-

"Does sir dress to the left or right?" the tailor asked, crouched between Aziraphale's legs with a measuring tape.

"Pardon me?" Aziraphale asked. He'd been busy admiring his new suit in the floor-length mirror, and hadn't been paying attention.

"Do you dress to the left or the right?" the tailor repeated.

Aziraphale didn't understand the question. What a strange thing to ask. "Well, usually in my bed chamber," he said.

The tailor let out an irritated sigh. "Your equipment, sir, for the measurements. Which side do you hang on? So I can leave room in the trousers."

"Ah, I see." Aziraphale smiled. "I'm a bookseller by trade, so I haven't much need of any equipment."

"Well, that's as may be, sir, but I was talking about your manhood."

"My-?" Aziraphale started, and then it dawned on him what his tailor had been asking. "Oh, yes, my _manhood_. Of course, that makes sense. One must put it _somewhere_. Can't just tuck it away for a rainy day." He gave a little bob back and forth in embarrassment. "Uhm...what would you suggest?"

"I can't rightly say, sir."

"Well, which side do you go with then? Are you a _lefty_ or a _righty_? Do you need to leave much room? I'd hate for-"

"Excuse me?" The tailor cut him off as he rose up to his feet abruptly, and Aziraphale took a startled step back, stumbling off of the little platform he had been standing on while having his measurements taken. "I am not accustomed to discussing that with my customers."

"But, you just asked _me_," Aziraphale argued.

"Sir, you should know that I'm a married man, and a member in good standing of the Catholic church."

"That's good to hear," Aziraphale sputtered. "Er… congratulations?" He had no idea whatsoever what that should have to do with the cut of his trousers, but it hadn't escaped his notice that humans seemed to take their genitals very seriously. Perhaps he was trying to tell Aziraphale that he wasn't circumcised? Though, what that should have to do with where one tucked away ones bits, he couldn't fathom.

"I don't have any problems with working for your sort," he said, though the look of disgust on his face seemed to suggest otherwise. "A paying customer is a paying customer. What you get up to in your bedroom is your own business."

"Putting on trousers?" Aziraphale asked.

The man scowled. "I'm happy to sell you a suit, but ask me one more personal question, or make an inappropriate insinuation, and I'll throw you out on your ear!"

"Well, I never…" Aziraphale said, huffing out his chest in indignation. He wondered if this was what his customers felt like when he refused to sell them a book. "I shouldn't think that asking a tailor for his sartorial expertise amounts to any kind of insinuation- inappropriate or otherwise."

"That's fine, sir." the man forced out, between gritted teeth. "If you're undecided on the matter, I'll leave room in both legs, and you can do it whichever way you like, if that's your style."

"I…" Aziraphale started, but he was so flustered by the whole exchange that he didn't know how to continue. "Yes, that will be fine."

"Good," the tailor said, as though it were a curse. "Just change out of the suit, and I'll have it finished for you in three days."

Aziraphale all but fled from the shop after he'd paid in advance for the suit. He would hire someone to pick it up when the three days had elapsed. He had no desire to have any more dealings with such an unpleasant man.

He might have simply cancelled his purchase, but it really was a very fine suit, a lovely cream color with a brown waistcoat and trousers- a bit of tartan at the collar, and it would be just the thing. He wondered if Crowley would like it. He'd be sure to find a way for them to accidentally bump into each other, so that he could show it off.

But, never in his wildest dreams had Aziraphale suspected that he would need to make an effort for his tailor. It seemed so inappropriate for an angel to be going about hung like some kind of incubus. The idea of it! He wondered if Crowley had ever had this trouble, but _no, _he probably wouldn't have.

Well, next time, he would be sure to manifest up something to hang between his legs before making an appointment. He still wasn't sure which direction it should go, though.

"What a lot of bother," he mumbled to himself as he hurried back to the safety of the bookshop.

The suit did turn out quite nicely, and he was more than happy to go the next one hundred and eighty years without ever buying another one.


End file.
